Into the Dark Lands

by Michelle Sagara

  She accepted his help; although she loved riding, it was seldom that she got an opportunity. Maybe if she thought of this trip as riding practice, she might get through it. Maybe.

  “Erin!”

  She turned her head and caught sight of Belfas.

  “Best of luck!”

  She waved once and then they rode out of camp.

  Only the Grandfather was there to greet them when they finally rode into the Great Hall’s courtyard, covered with the dust and sweat of the journey. He nodded to Jethren and his escort.

  “There is word for you at the temple, Jethren. Thank you for carrying the Lady’s message.”

  Jethren nodded. “Erin?”

  She looked at him solemnly—as she had done for most of the journey.

  “I’ll see to the horse. ”

  She nodded, dismounting. “Grandfather?”

  He reached out and pulled her slowly into his arms. “Thank you for returning.”

  “I—I didn’t want to.”

  He smiled. “I know. I don’t suppose you’ve made this trip an easy one on Jethren, either.” She started to flush and he shook his head. “If it helps, know that Telvar was far, far worse. We expect this from any student of his. Bright Heart help us if we ever call Carla before her time.

  “Come; it’s nearing dinner and I’d be honored if you’d join me.”

  For the first time in a week, Erin smiled.

  “Tell me,” he said softly, as they walked into the Great Hall, “about Beryon Field.”

  She looked up at the arches as they entered the Great Hall, at the familiar tapestries and the wide, simple altar. “Beryon?”

  He nodded as he led her to his quarters.

  She began to recount events that had already blurred into a haze. He only interrupted her once.

  “You heard the voice of the Bright Heart?”

  “Yes,” she said softly. Her eyes were glowing faintly as she looked straight ahead.

  He nodded almost to himself and urged her to continue, although he paid little attention to the rest of what she said.

  Lernan, God. She touched enough of your power to fully hear Your voice.

  The next morning, Erin was to meet Latham, who would lead her to the Lady’s Woodhall. She knew the master scholar by sight—all of the children did; they were taught several of their history classes by none other. But his appearance surprised her. His hair was streaked white, and the lines across his forehead were more prominent than they had ever been.

  “Are you ready, Erin?”

  She nodded.

  “Then come. The Lady has been awaiting your arrival.” He held out a hand, but let it drop when she ignored it. “Child,” he said, seemingly unaware of how the word made her bristle, “you have nothing to fear from the Lady. She wishes to see you, that is all.”

  His eyes caught all the nuances of her expression, and after a few minutes of walking she turned her intent, green stare upon him, ignoring the sun-tinted green of the hushed forest.

  He smiled, not at all self-conscious. “I am the memory-walker of the line at the holdings,” he explained. He ducked beneath the low branch of a nearby tree, his movement a contrast to the warriors of the march. “And I always watch carefully.”

  “Oh.” She walked ahead a bit; after her years on the front, the majesty of the forest was lost to her. “Latham?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know what she wants?”

  Latham continued to watch her, even as he followed the path that led from the holdings to the old forest.

  Child, he thought, for everyone that he had ever taught was still a child in his mind, if I knew, truthfully, all that the Lady requires from you, I might tell you. He shook his head. But I believe that all that has been done leads somehow to this, and l, too, would like to know the truth of it. But he knew, as she did not, that that truth might never be given to him.

  “Here. We are coming upon it.”

  Erin nodded automatically, then looked around. No entrance lay in sight, just large, tall trees that seemed to reach endlessly upward.

  “You will have to follow me; do not be surprised at where I will lead, but rather have faith in the Lady. ”

  So saying he took her hand, and this time she allowed it. He walked through the maze of trees until he reached the largest of them. Here he stopped and bowed a moment while Erin watched in confusion.

  “Did you think,” he said, as he stepped directly toward the huge trunk, “that we call it the Woodhall without reason?”

  Before she could answer he had disappeared into it—only the hand that held hers could still be seen, jutting as it did from the craggy, silvered bark. She had the time to gasp before that hand dragged her forward. A light hashed all around her, blinding in its intensity.

  Shaking her head, she pulled away from Latham and brought her hands automatically to her face.

  “Erin,” she heard him say, and she looked up.

  For the first time in her life, she stood inside the Woodhall of the Lady Elliath. Beyond Latham, she could see the beginnings of an arched hall; similar in style to the Great Hall, but narrower and somehow more majestic. The walls, or as much of them as she could see, were tall, blank, and white as they stretched forward into one long corridor.

  She met Latham’s eyes, all anger with him forgotten.

  He smiled. “I know,” he said softly, turning to look down the expanse of hall. “I felt the same when first I entered here.

  “This is the Lady’s hall. This is her home.”

  “But we—we walked through—”

  “The tree? Yes. But this is old—older, I think, than the tree itself, the work of the Lady when first she walked the world. It is not altogether real, in the way that we understand it. ” He held out an arm in the direction of the hall. With a tinge of regret, he said, “But go ahead. The Lady waits within; you will see her when you reach the hall’s end. She has made it clear that this appointment is to be private; I will go no further.”

  “Will you—will you wait for me?”

  At this he smiled. “If you request it, Erin, I will be happy to wait.”

  “Please?”

  He nodded and stepped aside as she stared down the hall that suddenly seemed endless.

  She took a deep breath and stepped forward, wishing, although she didn’t know why, that Belfas were here. The sound of her step echoed down the hall. It was the only noise; even her breathing was too shallow to break the silence.

  Step after step she walked, as if remembering how for the first time in her life. She could see a hint of green that slowly became the leaves and flowers of the Lady’s conservatory.

  Lady, she thought as she glanced at the comfort of her very normal feet, what do you want from me?

  As if in answer to her question, there was a flash of light, and she looked up. The Lady of Elliath stood at the far end of the hall.

  “L-Lady?”

  Deep, green eyes searched Erin’s upturned face. It was the only motion the Lady made. She might have been a statue, pale and still, that marked the entrance to the life of her garden.

  After a moment, Erin began to walk toward her, her steps smaller and quieter.

  The Lady held out one hand, much as Latham had done earlier. Erin glanced down at the long, smooth fingers, and then looked at her own, now short and stubby by comparison.

  She did not know why, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to accept the Lady’s hand. After another silent moment, it was withdrawn.

  Then the Lady turned and walked into her garden. Erin followed, finding in the chaotic greenery a warmth and a life that was welcome. For the Lady, her grandmother, seemed like the moon, a welcome light, but distant and immovable.

  Although Erin had learned something of flora in her earlier years, most of the plants that grew here were unfamiliar to her. Some had leaves—leaves?—that were thicker than her fingers; some sprouted spines along bulbous, irregular bodies; some had brilliant, delicate blossom
s that stretched toward the sunlight in splashes of crimson, gold, and azure. Sunlight? Walking along, Erin looked up and searched the large, domed roof for any sign of a window. Nor was she particularly surprised to find none; this was the Lady’s domain, after all.

  Latham would not have been familiar with the direction that the Lady took, but he, like Erin, would have followed her without question.

  Thus the silent companions came to the very heart of the Lady’s garden. It opened onto a large circular fountain from which clear water, dappled with light, splashed outward into a pale basin.

  At the center of the fountain stood a large, alabaster figure, casting a moving shadow over rippling water. Its hands reached upward and its face looked into the nonexistent sky.

  The Lady gestured toward it, and Erin stepped hesitantly forward until she stood at the lip of the basin. From here she could see that the statue’s features were subtle and smooth. It had no real definition, no real expression, but she thought it must be a woman, surrounded by water and a wall of flowers and trees.

  “It is.”

  She stiffened at the sound of the Lady’s voice.

  “No, do not turn. Look at my fountain, granddaughter. Tell me what you see there.”

  “A statue.”

  “Yes.”

  “I think—I think it must be alabaster; it’s too pale for anything else.”

  “Yes.” She was clearly waiting for something more.

  “But I don’t know who it’s supposed to be.” She had an idea, as she looked at it. “Maybe—maybe it isn’t finished yet?”

  “No, it is not.”

  “Oh.”

  “It is not old; thirty of your years, no more. I started it the day I returned.”

  “Returned?” Erin glanced back to see that the Lady’s eyes were not on her, but on the fountain itself. “Returned from where?” She tried to remember any stories of the Lady traveling, but the only ones she could think of were centuries old.

  A faint light gathered in the stone of the statue, as if its heart were suddenly laid bare for observers to see.

  “From dark lands, Erin.” The Lady closed her eyes. “Dark lands and darker time.” She turned, suddenly, and caught Erin’s shoulders in her hands.

  “Erin, child, what would you give if you could end our eternal war? Answer me carefully. Take what time you need to consider my question.”

  “Anything,” Erin replied. She didn’t need the time to think about it. She was a third, but one day she would be first, and one day she would lead her people to their last confrontation with the Enemy.

  The Lady’s eyes searched hers for a moment, and her grip slackened.

  “Anything. Such an answer I would expect from a warrior of the line.” She turned to look at the statue again. As if musing to herself, she continued to speak. “I returned from the darkness. And to the darkness I must yet again travel. Do you ever fear it, Erin?”

  “No. I hate it and I will destroy it. But I don’t fear it. What can it bring me but death? ”

  “If you could live centuries such as I have lived, I fear you would come to know the answer to your question better than even I.”

  Then she turned yet again, and the look on her face was one that Erin would never forget. For Lady Death had such a face: old, like mountains, like the elements, like nothing that knows life truly. In spite of herself, she was frightened.

  And the Lady said, “If you will accept the position, initiate, you will be the new Sarillorn of Elliath.”

  Just like that, each word a splinter of something so shattered that one could not tell what the whole had been.

  Before Erin could force herself to speak, the Lady continued.

  “I have walked between the present and the future, the many futures. I have chosen the path and the price for viewing it. I have seen the Heart of the Enemy.

  “I know of your weakness. It has troubled the line greatly, for you know as well as we that could you but touch the full extent of your power, you would be the greatest healer any of the lines have ever seen. But I have also seen Karana; I felt the touch of God through you on the field, and I know the power you wield, even if you do not.

  “Perhaps, in time, you will find that your weakness contains a hidden strength; this I do not know.

  “But this road, this road that I have walked, you, too, must walk, Sarillorn or no.”

  “What road, Lady?”

  “The road between Dark and Light. And you, of the Light, must take that path, knowing that light casts its shadows, and that they lie at times in places that no eyes can see. ”

  She stopped then, closing her eyes again. How much can I tell you, child? For Erin was, truly, a child in the eyes of the eldest.

  “If you become the Sarillorn of Line Elliath, all the responsibility of the field will be yours. Your friend and line-mate must remain with his unit, but you will belong to all. You will go where you are needed and will lend my power—your power—to all of your kin.

  “You will see death, child, and more; your gift, your talent, is the talent of your mother. You are a healer by birth and warrior by choice, but when I grant you a part of my power, it is the healer that will often dominate. When you fight on the field, you will fight two battles: the one against the enemy, and the other against your need to ease the pain that will surround you.”

  Erin nodded. “I already do,” she whispered.

  “It will be worse.

  “Will you become Sarillorn?”

  Erin took a deep breath, weighing the responsibility. Becoming Sarillorn was a dream—a hope—that was never talked about. No honor was higher, no position more respected. But it required so much knowledge, so much skill . . . She swallowed.

  “I—I can’t, Lady. I don’t have half the skill the Sarillorn—or Sarillar—would need.” It wasn’t easy to say the words, but she took comfort in knowing that somehow, Belfas would be proud of her.

  The Lady seemed to shrink slightly.

  “Erin. This thing that I ask of you—I ask it with reason. For although I may not speak of all I have seen, I have seen this: That you, and you alone of all the lines, may one day pull from the darkness a lasting light. If the Bright Heart has a hope, it is this: the end of the war that destroys so many, blooded and gray.

  “And thus I name you Lernan’s Hope.

  “Yet even where you walk, more than hope must sustain you. For the good of the future, you must allow the line to risk some of the present. If you are not yet qualified to be Sarillorn, have faith that you will become the greatest that the line has ever honored.

  “Will you become Sarillorn?”

  Of all the things that she had imagined, this was not among them. She wanted to say no.

  And she wanted to say yes. To say yes, and become the strongest single force that the Enemy would have to deal with. She looked at the Lady as if for guidance and found her answer there.

  But she could not speak it. Instead she nodded quietly.

  “Go, then. Latham still awaits you. Ready yourself and return to me on the morrow.”

  Erin walked away from the fountain, following the green path until she could once again see the long, pale hall that she had come through. She looked down its length to see one man standing against a blank wall.

  Latham.

  Wordless, she went to meet him.

  And wordless, he offered her his hand. He thought, this time, that she would accept it completely. Nor was he wrong; even those very strong of blood who spent too much time in the Lady’s presence yearned for the familiar sight and touch of another—mortal—being.

  Bright Heart help me to live up to my line.

  She touched the cool stone altar with her forehead and rose. Latham was waiting outside of the Great Hall; waiting to take her back to the Lady. She belted her robe tightly, feeling a chill in the autumn air.

  Hunger gnawed at her, and she ignored it to the best of her ability; she’d not been able to eat at all either the previous night or thi
s morning.

  “Lernan, ” she whispered, near silent, as she passed through the doors. “Guide me.”

  Latham bowed as she entered the day. He noted that she was wearing the simple gray robe of the initiate that had been given to her four years ago. Her hair, unbound, fell loose around her face like an auburn wimple. Only the sword that she wore at her side separated her from the other temple initiates.

  “The Lady waits,” he murmured.

  She looked beyond him to the very edge of the woods. “I know.”

  He knew that she was frightened; she held herself, in fear, the way the young do—tense and withdrawn, as if to avoid the notice of danger or threat. But it was a different fear than the previous day’s. The unknown had been replaced by the known. And the known was no less terrible.

  “Child,” he said softly.

  This time, Erin didn’t bridle. For the first time, she heard the warmth and concern in the word instead of condescension. She looked up at him almost gratefully, holding out a barely steady hand.

  He took it.

  “Come.” He began to walk. “If I am to judge, this day will be the end of it, one way or another.”

  She didn’t ask him what he meant.

  The forest swallowed them both in its shadows and shade. She heard the muted whisper of birds and the patter of small, animals as if from a great distance.

  She paused only once, at the foot of the tree that marked the entrance to the Lady’s hall. Eyes wide, she turned to Latham.

  “I’m not ready yet.” She was ashamed of the words almost before they left her mouth, but that shame couldn’t stop her from speaking them.

  “No one ever is, Erin.” His grip on her hand tightened reassuringly. “If you wish time, you have it.”

  She rushed on, her eyes imploring. “What if I’m never ready? ”

  Very gently he shook his head. “You know yourself, and you must be the only judge of that. I cannot help you.

  “But know this: Of all Elliath, the Lady was first; she is eldest and wisest among us. For centuries Elliath has taken counsel with her and trusted her guidance. She makes no decision lightly, nor are her choices foolish even if we cannot always see the end of them.” His voice dropped a little over the last words.